Page 60 of Cillian

“Cillian and me. We did something not long ago. I don't know if I was doing it wrong, I've never been with anyone but Cillian. Anyway, he seemed to really like it but at the time my body just wouldn't agree.”

“Jesus, Queenie, look at my little brother corrupting his God-fearing wife. You're not talking about the backdoor, are you?” Embarrassed and a little surprised she got it on her first guess. I just nodded, hoping she didn't make fun of me more than she already had.

“Between me and you, that kind of play feels better when you trust the person?—”

“But I do.”

“Maybe your heart does. But your body hasn’t caught up with you. And that's okay. Don't worry about the stuff you can't do. Cillian has been limping around since he married you like he can't stay out of you. So, I know you make him happy.”

“I'm sure I do. This is just the first time—likely the only time—that I’ll get to explore myself with…I…just like who I get to be when I'm with him. Sometimes I don't always have to be…”

“Be what?”

“The good little church girl I guess,” I shrugged.

“Well then if you want a little advice, half the time men are obsessed with your back door is because what they really want is for you to?—”

“Oi. Órfhlaith, where do you keep the good whiskey?” A gentleman that looked close to her age waddled in, forcing her attention elsewhere.

“Let me go tend to the savages before they clear me out.” Órfhlaith squeezed my shoulder before hopping up. After making my way back to the kitchen, most of the efforts performed behind these doors were already making rounds to the patio.

Can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed no one had made any effort to make sure my cobbler made it outside, but I tried not to take offense to it as I gathered the dish with towels on both sides and set it along one of the long patio tables.

Long, strong arms wrapped around my waist, which would have taken me aback had I not recognized Cillian’s cologne. “You all right?” He leaned in close to my ear.

“Mmmhmm.” Assuring him with a nod.

“You sure? I swear I didn't want to leave you but Irish women are particular about men being in their kitchen.”

“I assumed as much. Black women aren't that much different, so I understand.”

“You sure you're okay?” He asked the final time, this time accepting my answer but assuring me he wouldn't leave my side again.

After a handful of us helped to get the table set up, Cillian led me to a seat across from his sister as another dozen and a half people took their seats. Órfhlaith said a light and quick prayer, something Cillian tried to guide me through while most people's eyes were closed.

Once prayers were done, it appeared as though all of the women started reaching over, first deciding to dress the plates for their husbands, uncles or brothers. Órfhlaith, knowing her brothers well, dressed each other their plates to their preferences, as I assumed it was expected of me to do so for Cillian.

Cillian for all of his faults wasn’t quite so patriarchal at home, as he didn’t seem to mind keeping me company in the kitchen while I cooked, or setting the table. Even drying the dishes was something I didn’t have to ask him to do. It made when he asked me to heat things up for him or bring him something less of a pain.

Image was important to men, so I reached in and set his plate up for him before dressing my own. Leaning into kiss my cheek, he whispered a faint, “Thank you.”

Cillian managed to get mashed potatoes stuck in his beard, as I took a napkin to wipe it off. “See, this is why you have to get the lasses young. The younger they are the easier is to train them how to treat a man.”

An offhand comment made by an uncle in reference to the drink I’d recently poured Cillian. It was an unwelcome for sure, but given I was the outsider I didn't want to stand out and be labeled as angry or pretentious.

Órfhlaith had seemed used to it when she rolled her eyes, but to my surprise, Cillian pushed back on the comment.

“Actually, Queenie only those things when she wants to. Not because I expect her to. Don't got nothing to do with her sex, race or age. Frankly, I don't know how you juggle a wife too young for you, with two kids you don't take care of in addition to the one you actually do.”

Both Paddy and Bellamy fought through snickers and cracked smiles, as Cillian wasn't ridiculed or chided for being disrespectful. It was a trait that I envied about men speaking to other men.

“Can someone pass me the cobbler at the end?” Hoping to peacefully get past the moment, I cut through the cobbler to place a portion on to Cillian’s plate. Cillian devoured the cobbler first, unable to hide his admiration for my cooking.

“Jesus Christ woman,” he subtlety bragged, choosing not to say much else.

“It better be good, using the Lord's name in vain like that,” Paddy snickered and because I didn't know him very well, I couldn't tell if he was joking.

“Queenie is a damn good cook. Making stuff I've never had before. Before her, I used to think I could only eat Irish food. This woman can make something out of nothing.”

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